


The Trouble is, You Think You Have Time

by PipersLostChild



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives Except Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins Dies In Battle of Five Armies, Gen, Heavy Angst, It gets worse long before it gets better, M/M, after i torture the characters quite a bit, because im evil, eventually, hahahah, im evil, there is going to be a happy ending, this is going to be a multi-chapter fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipersLostChild/pseuds/PipersLostChild
Summary: Bilbo wakes early, and things change, but not necessarily for the better. Death still takes a life, and even though Erebor, and the line of Durin, stands, someone has to fall. And in the end of the battle, Thorin has to make an impossible choice, and live with the consequences.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	The Trouble is, You Think You Have Time

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how many chapters there are going to be for certain, but i'm thinking four, possibly five. This is heavy angst, and while there is a happy ending, it's not where you think it is. So, yeah. The title of this work is a quote by the Buddha, and this chapter is my own.

Bilbo woke up to the sound of battle raging around him; the screams of rage and pain reminding him easily of where he was. He stumbled to his feet, right hand clutching Sting, left hand wearing the golden ring he found (stole  _ won _ ) in the Misty Mountains, rendering him invisible save for the slight shadow on the ground. The world was grey and misty, people shadows around him as they fought and died. He crept around the rock, arriving on Ravenhill without any fanfare, to a scene from his worst nightmares. Thorin faced Azog alone, bleeding and wounded on the ice of the frozen river.

Bilbo tore off his (precious) ring, rendering him visible to the world, and sprinted to the ice; to Thorin. It was eerily reminiscent of the battle before the Carrock; once more running to Thorin’s defense. But is that not what he has been doing since then? Running both physically and metaphorically to Thorin’s defense. Time seemed to slow as Azog pushed Thorin to the ice, Thorin struggling to keep the bladed hand away from his chest. Azog drew his arm back once more, a wicked grin on his face, and Bilbo saw the moment Thorin accepted that he would not survive this encounter. Resignation, then determination seemed to flit across his face, and his body seemed to slump into the ice. 

Bilbo ran faster, his bare feet slipping slightly when he reached the ice. He dove between Azog’s legs, reaching Thorin just as the blade came down. It slammed into him with the full force of Azog’s might, and the sound of his ribs and back breaking hit first, and right after the pain hit, causing the small gasp, and darkness swallowed him to the sound of Thorin’s rage filled scream. 

Thorin screamed in rage as he thrust Orcrist upward into Azog’s chest, the small, pain filled gasp and the sound of Bilbo’s bones breaking under the force of Azog’s swing echoing in his mind. Azog stumbles back, shock coloring his face. He fell backwards, Orcrist still in his chest, and died staring at the sky, failing the goal he had worked so hard for. 

Thorin clutched Bilbo’s body to his chest, running his hand over Bilbo’s back, desperately feeling for a wound. Nothing. He carefully turned over slowly lowering Bilbo to the ice, trying his hardest not to jostle him. The gasp of pain told him he failed. 

A sharp pain in Bilbo’s chest forced him out of the darkness, causing him to gasp, then moan as something in his chest shifted, giving a tearing sensation and a hard cough which caused more pain. His eyes opened to blue skies and a worried face. He coughed more, and felt something give, and come out of his mouth, almost like flem, but with an iron tang.  _ Blood,  _ he thought absently. 

Thorin stared worriedly at Bilbo, at the sight of blood trickling out the side of his mouth, and speckling his lips. Bilbo’s dazed eyes roved slowly to his face. “Thorin?” He asked breathily, then coughed some more, blood coming out as well. “Am I moving my legs? I can’t feel them.” 

“Just stop trying to move, I am going to pick you up, and try to get you to the healing tents.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo’s hand came up to grab his. “Am I moving my legs?” He asked slowly, staring directly into Thorin’s eyes. “I’m trying to move them.” 

Thorin quickly looked down at Bilbo’s legs. “No, your legs are still. But we can fix this!” He said quickly.  _ Please let us be able to fix it.  _ “I just need to get you to the healing tents, it will be fine.” 

He tried to get his hands under Bilbo, to best carry him securely, but Bilbo gasped loudly, and screamed quietly as he tried to pull Bilbo into his arms from the ice. “Stop stop stop. Please.” Bilbo’s hands hit his arms, and Thorin stopped, setting him back down to the ice. “I’m not going to make it, Thorin.” 

“No, no you will be fine!” 

“Thorin. I can feel my ribs tearing into my-“ here he stopped, coughing hard enough to curl his body upwards and blood spattering his face. “-my lungs. Moving me will only make it worse.” A small trickle of blood slipped out from his mouth. 

“I am sorry. You should have never been here.” 

“To be able to take part in your perils is more than any Baggins deserves.”

“You deserve to be able to go back to your armchairs, and garden. I am so sorry for all the pain I put you through, for taking you from your home.” 

“I am happy to be here. You gave me companionship, and friends. I was so lonely before this, with an empty home filled with ghosts I refused to leave, even though it was destroying me.” He coughed multiple times throughout his little speech, blood continuing to come up. He brought his hand up, cupping Thorin’s cheek. 

“Rule-“ he coughed again, once, unable to cough more as blood caught in his throat making him unable to breathe in. Bilbo’s eyes widened as he choked, body convulsing as he panicked. Thorin pulled him up, heedless of the shifting of a broken spine and ribs. Bilbo coughed up blood in one giant heave, and gasped for breath, coughing a few more times. Finally he continued. “Rule Erebor. Make her great, again. Bring her back to prominence. You deserve it.” 

Thorin choked down emotion, as he realized what he was going to have to do. “I will.” He said, as a tear slipped down his cheek; staring down at the broken body in his arms. 

“I ask forgiveness, for stealing the Arkenstone,” Bilbo said quietly. “For giving it to your enemies. I’m sorry for that.” 

Thorin broke inside at that quiet query, at the shame and self recrimination in Bilbo’s broken voice. “I forgave you long ago. You did what you thought was necessary. I am the one who should be begging you forgiveness for what I did to you.” 

“I forgave you the moment you set me down. You never hurt me, or at least nothing more than my feelings. I don’t even have a bruise from that encounter.” 

Bilbo’s coughing was only getting worse, with longer breaks between each word as his lungs slowly filled with blood, the coughs shredding his lungs even more, as his body tried to dispel the blood from his lungs. More tears slipped down Thorin’s cheeks. 

Bilbo smiles weakly up at him, a tremor in his lips as he fights to hold back the coughs. There was no coming back from this. No healer in middle earth could heal his ribs and lungs, not before he drowned on dry land. A slow, cruel death, except for one thing.

Thorin had a small knife in his right boot. 

Thorin had a choice. 

Sit and watch, as the one he loves, the only one he would ever love, dies choking on his own blood, fear taking over those lovely eyes. Watch as Bilbo is painfully dragged from this world, body fighting death even as it kills him faster. 

Or he could slip the knife into the space at the base of his head and his neck, killing him instantly. 

His breath hitches as a sob tried to work it’s way out, but was ruthlessly subdued before it’s goal. Thorin lifted a shaking hand to gently, oh so gently, cup Bilbo’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry ghivashel.” 

Bilbo lips quirked upward, his first tear slipping down his cheek. “It’s alright,” he murmured, his hand once more coming up to cup Thorin’s cheek. “Meet me in the afterlife, decades after this. I wish there was another choice.” 

Bilbo’s hand moved slowly from Thorin’s cheek to the back of his head, and he pulled downward, drawing Thorin to rest his forehead on his own. “Meet me in the afterlife,” he whispered into the space between them. Thorin’s tears fell onto Bilbo’s cheeks, face twisting as a sob tore its way free. 

The hand that was cradling Bilbo’s cheek moved to gently hold his body to Thorin’s, as the hand that had been holding Bilbo up went to his right boot. He slipped the knife out of its hidden sheath and gently moved the both of them into a kneeling position, Bilbo’s legs on either side of his in a mockery of an act they had never done. That they would never do. Thorin’s hand moved to cradle the back of Bilbo’s head and neck, arm parallel to his spine. Bilbo tilted his head downward, burying his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck, inhaling his scent as best he could between wracking coughs. He felt the cold tip of the small knife between the heat of Thorin’s fingers cradling his head and neck. “I’m sorry,” was whispered into his ear once more, then a flash of pain as the small knife slipped into the hollow at the base of his skull, and black as his spine was severed from his head, killing him instantly. 

Thorin sat on the ice, cradling the cooling body of his one, sobbing in between apologies. His tears freeze to his cheeks, as he grieves in the snow, and the battle finishes around him. So deep in his grief was he that he does not notice the orc who comes up behind him, and is quickly killed by Dwalin. 

  
Dwalin rushed onto a scene he had dreamed (feared) of since he noticed his Kings growing ardour for their small burglar, Thorin on his knees, cradling a body, unaware as an orc stands behind him. He does not scream as he approaches, exhausted from hours of battle. A grunt escapes him as he slashes at the knees of the orc in front of him, causing it to fall forward to its knees with the left axe, and quickly detaches its head with the right. With that last kill, the battle is over for him. Slowly, he approaches the grieving dwarf in front of him. As he draws even, he notices the bloody knife laying on the ground in front of Thorin, Orcrist in Azog, and, finally, the bloody hand on the back of the hobbit clutched in Thorin’s arms, as if if Thorin held tight enough, Bilbo might come back, hale and healthy. THorin turns to him, and looks up with dead eyes. Slowly, as if dragged out of him, thorin explains. “His ribs were driven into his lungs, there was nothing I, nor anyone, could do. Every breath was tearing his lungs apart, even as his body fought the intrusion, it only killed him faster. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't watch him die terrified. I couldn't do anything I-” his breath hitched, “- couldn't. Dwalin-” a sob. “-Dwalin, why couldn't I do anything?” And with that, Dwalin could do nothing but watch, as his cousin, his best friend,  _ his King _ , broke in front of him, screaming his sorrow to the world, as he clutched at the dead body of his One in his arms. 


End file.
